Neuroanthropologist

Composer, dancer, scientist, ethnographer. Paul Mason completed his PhD in Anthropology at Macquarie University, Sydney, Australia. His creative writing has been published in Noise and The Age, and his creative science has been published in Brolga-an Australian journal about dance. With his work in anthropology, Paul enjoys writing about music, dance and festivals. Once asked why he enjoys writing ethnography, Paul replied, “Asking me why I write about real life, would be like asking a painter why he didn’t just take a photo.” In 2006, Paul was the winner of the Noise VoteForArt competition.

Ode to the Honeybee

the feeling of you

There was a whisper inside a tear,
That faintly whimpered when you came near.
There was a heartbeat inside a sigh,
That yearned to quicken, that ached to cry.

Hidden in our shared caress,
There were spaces I confess,
That unashamedly begged your touch,
Waiting for you to fill them such.

Incredibly awakened by the feeling of you,
Like sweet imaginations resting like the dew,
Upon the wandering fingers of my wandering eyes,
You nourished my soul with the lingering echoes of your sighs.

Plunged so deeply

written on the morning of 31 July 2007

The boy with the pluralistic mind

written 30 July 2007

The boy with the pluralistic mind,
frightened by those of the normal kind,
wandered into the land of the wandering free,
and fell through the arms of serendipity.

Guided by coincidence into her smile,
he longed to stay, to stay awhile,
the pluralistic mind of the enraptured boy,
found the happiness of an eternal joy.

Touched by the skin that touched his soul,
touched by the parts that made him whole,
unexpected he fell through the gaze of a wandering host,
slipping through the haze of a memory he’d miss most.

Constricted by the hormone that drove his pulse,
knowing what was and what wasn’t false,
he drenched himself in a memory fading fast,
indulging the emotion so that it would last.

Holding on to a caress that never was,
he became lost in a moment for forever cos,
he dared not lose what he’d already lost,
tried to defy it no matter what the cost.

Was this fiction or was this real?
what was this feeling he did feel?
He built a spirit but broke his heart,
Was he better off where he did start?

But still the corners of her smile still widen his soul,
the clumsiness of her touch still make him whole,
if only to live in a present that is always past,
he’ll hold onto this moment and make it last.

If I were ever ever

If I were ever ever,
lessened by this world,
Softened into the terra,
And in its depth be held.

Then I would want to rise,
With birds cradled in my arms,
Reaching for their open skies,
And decorated in their charms.

Sending my roots deep and wide,
Taking the earth within my stride,
Breathing from my lungs outside,
Being a being that lived and died.

I cannot give,
What I have not learnt,
And I will not live,
If I have not earnt.

But, if I were ever ever,
To find a humbler path,
Let me search for my surrender,
In the spotlight of my mirth.

The Oystery of Wakafiva

written 28 July 2007

In a mysterious place called wakafiva,
there lived a giant buffalo-beaver,
he liked to dance and he liked to eat,
but his favourite thing was the people he’d meet.

You see, in this mysterious place of mystery,
There was a mysterious oystery,
It attracted all the fishes and the fishermen,
And Mr Buffalo-Beaver adored to entertain them.

And Despite the smell they’d laugh with glee,
for Mr Buffalo-Beaver was a funny man you see,
Oft he’d joke and clown around,
but alas he’d never make a sound.

Mr Buffalo-Beaver, you must understand,
Was friendly but a quiet man,
Of few words but many smiles,
And of gestures which’d reach your inner child.

The fishermen were ever attentive to his gentle ways,
For it was the attentive who enjoyed brighter days,
And in the moonlight of oyster bay,
the oystery of wakafiva was no mystery to those men at play.

On the precipice of the evergreen

written July 2007

If I was a moment,
What moment would I be?
And if I was your atonement,
What forgiveness would you see?

If I was a whisper,
Sailing in a dream,
Would the sunlight quiver,
When dappled on that scene?

Will I find surrender,
In a moment with no name?
Or is the present forever,
Going to leave me just the same?

Can this breathe that shortens,
Ever hope to find release?
And can the depth that broadens,
Ever fold into that crease?

reflective prayers

Written 29, June 2007

Certain Faith

Where the where was,
And how the how wasn’t,
Is it is or is it not?
Can we can, or can we can’t,
Are we are, or are we not?
Why the why we wonder why,
Knowing what wasn’t was,
Were who happy with how,
Or aren’t we, won’t we, what?

Golly Froggle, Twiggy and Me

Written 18 May, 2007

Once there was a golly woggle,
Who goggled all the way,
He liked to dance with jolly froggle,
They’d dance the night away.

And plenty a jig, they did jig,
With twiggy the twig and me,
For in that land of moggy moggles,
Of twiggy twigs and me,
There was an air of jolly fine fellows,
Of soft belly bellows and glee.